45th of Season of Fire, 57th year of the 32nd cycle

  Sect master Greenthorn nodded. “I see.”

  He made a dramatic pause before steepling his fingers and looking Alabaster in the eye. The weight of his gaze was like that of a mountain, and Alabaster did all she could not to buckle under the pressure.

  “Your approach isn’t wrong. Neither is Flameax’s. To cycle between softness and hardness is indeed the best way to shape and polish an unsightly lump of jade into something precious.” The sect master gazed into the distance. “But, ultimately, sculpting might not be the thing this Newstar needs.”

  Alabaster furrowed her brows, but did not interrupt her sect master. “Today is the summer solstice, the zenith of the world’s fire. Based on today’s incident, the boy is either cursed, or he is a reincarnation of a long dead master and for some reason his power flared today. I’m leaning towards the latter.

  “You said he comprehends techniques extremely quickly and that he has reached his current realm in less than a year while cultivating a powerful, stable realm without a clan’s backing. His self-invented techniques are good enough for his current realm despite the fact that he created them back when he was at the first realm, while his clan’s techniques are sorely lacking. His skill makes no sense for a self-taught, barely educated child, doubly so for one which spent three years banished in a cave.”

  Alabaster agreed that her disciple was unique, but she could not bring herself to believe her sect master’s words.

  “Is there really such a thing as reincarnation?” she asked.

  Unexpectedly, the sect master, who sounded so sure a moment ago, shrugged.

  “Curses, karma, reincarnation, these things can’t be proven. Powerful masters certainly can sacrifice their lives to create secret realms with attributes which would boggle the minds of those below them. Imprinting your mind into a fragile child and making a copy of yourself is possible. It’s unlikely that the child would survive, and a secret realm could only perform such an esoteric deed a handful of times before collapsing. But someone desperate or deranged enough could certainly do it.”

  Alabaster shuddered, but Sect Master Greenthorn paid her no heed.

  “Is that reincarnation? Rebirth of the mind in a young, malleable body? The example I provided is certainly demonic in nature, but with some slight adjustments, it could be made into something righteous. An orthodox clan could indoctrinate its youths to become vessels for their grand ancestor, and if the youth genuinely believes they are doing the honorable thing, there is nothing demonic about it. In fact, the entire world would praise their sacrifice.”

  A heavy silence lingered for a moment, stretching until Alabaster found it oppressive.

  “You think he stumbled across a secret realm which warped his personality?”

  The sect master shrugged again.

  “It’s unlikely. An old monster reborn into this world with a sliver of its former self would seclude themselves into the best library they could find to rebuild their knowledge and find potentially useful secret realms, but this child has been reading about sect rules, rocks, and he even checked out a dictionary several times.”

  He spoke with senior Thunderwing while we were talking. Alabaster realized that just as Newstar and other disciples seemed to move in slow motion when she focused, she too must have been crawling in Sect Master Greenthorn’s perception.

  “He can apparently speak with snakes as well, and he picked up spell formations seemingly from nowhere.” The sect master paused before shifting his distant gaze back onto Alabaster. “Why is he here? What does he hope to achieve? Why is he cultivating?”

  “He is here to grow his power to reunite his family and protect them. I guarantee he is righteous. Should we help him achieve his goal, he will return the favor in kind. He is already aware of all obligations disciples have towards their sects.”

  Sect Master hesitated, displeasure flashing briefly in his eyes. “Fine. Help him as much as you can, but don’t waste too many resources to make his wish come true. As for his training, the usual inner disciple regimen won’t work for him. Despite having a clan, he carries himself like an outcast wanderer; see to it that we build up a sense of belonging, first with his team, then the rest of the sect. To keep him, we need to become his home.”

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  The sect master went silent, slowly tapping the table with his nail a dozen times before speaking again, still gazing at the horizon.

  “His team is a mess. Arrange for their first mission together to be in the Valley of the Lost.”

  Alabaster’s eyes went wide.

  “With all due respect, Sect Master, Valley of the Lost is an elite training ground. Newstar might die.”

  Sect Master shook his head. “He won’t; by the end of his tribulation, his body had toughened up to rival that of an average fourth realm cultivator. Venerable Monsoon’s disciple is on his team, I’ll have to talk to her, I can’t believe nobody informed me that the candidate for the next healing venerable is nearly crippled.”

  Sect Master Greenthord shifted his gaze back at Alabaster.

  “You are dismissed.”

  ***

  48th of Season of Fire, 57th year of the 32nd cycle

  The elder in white robe had just vanished from Newt’s room when his master opened the door and entered.

  “Newstar, thank goodness you’re alive.”

  Newt expected a scolding or something, but his master just stared at him in silence until he felt awkward.

  “Thank you, Master. What happened? Was it a relapse from my previous injury? The healing elder that just left said I was asleep for three days.”

  “You were.” Elder Alabaster’s indifferent, stony facade cracked, revealing hints of worry and confusion. “You spontaneously combusted and suffered great injuries.”

  Oh, boy, how much is this going to cost?

  “Master, I fainted. Nothing out of—”

  “Newstar,” Elder Alabaster’s voice hardened, “the incident you caused was so great, that you can confirm its extent with everyone in the sect, starting with your roommate, who only survived because I shielded him.”

  Newt’s jaw dropped.

  “You have incinerated the entire northern training area in your outburst. Have you really no recollection of the incident?”

  Newt shuddered. A part of his mind telling him he was trying to swat a blood-sucking fly.

  “Yes? What did you remember?”

  I already told that healing elder.

  “I had a strange dream in which I was fighting monsters.”

  Elder Alabaster sat on the edge of his bed and looked him in the eye. “What kind of monsters?”

  Newt wanted to lie or stay silent, but as weak as he was, there was no way to protect his secret. Then he recalled Dandelion’s advice never to reveal Magmin’s cores and secret realm to a living soul.

  “They were humans or human-like. Men made out of blood. That’s more or less all I remember.”

  I need to use vague words like that. Hopefully, they won’t pry too much.

  Elder Alabaster frowned, missing Newt’s final words.

  “The Blood Cult?” she muttered, and Newt stared at her.

  “The what?”

  “The Blood Cult; demonic practitioners cultivating a special kind of water-aligned spiritual energy. They draw the blood of their victims, manipulate it, merge it with their own, and create monsters out of it. There are all sorts of demonic cults, and heresy hunters are roaming the world, searching for them, hounding them night and day. Do you remember anything else?”

  “There were a lot of them. I killed them all, but died from the injuries I suffered.”

  Elder Alabaster nodded and did not pry anymore. “The healing venerable said you are free to leave the Chamber of Healing. She personally treated your injuries and claims your condition is stable.”

  Newt swallowed.

  What do I do now? Is this the moment she tells me how much I owe them? The main healer healed me…

  He waited for the number to drop, to crush him with the weight of an entire field of spell formations’ worth of spirit gems, but Elder Alabaster said nothing. Newt knew the astronomical number was coming, but stayed quiet, waiting.

  “The healing venerable said you can continue your training as normal, so your next lesson is tomorrow. Try to relax as much as you can, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Elder Alabaster got up and left the room at a normal pace, without mentioning a single spirit gem.

  When the door clicked closed, Newt covered his face with his hands.

  “Heavens, it’s so much money even she’s afraid to mention it,” he mumbled into his palms.

  “Hey there, little seven, do you mind if I come in?” Goodair entered the room before Newt could reply. “So, you really like it here? Is it the smell? The quiet? The barren landscape of rooms made for people bound to their beds?”

  “Greetings, sixth sister,” Newt said, feeling surprisingly fatigued by her appearance. “What brings you here?”

  “I wanted to see how my most volatile hothead is doing. So what is it with you and burning yourself alive? I’ve never heard of anyone suffering two life-threatening injuries in half a season, let alone both being self-inflicted and eerily similar in nature.”

  “They were both accidents!” Newt sat up in the bed, realizing only a moment later that he was not shackled by the spell formation.

  “You can’t have two identical accidents.” Goodair grinned. “What you have, little brother, is a bad habit.”